


12 Gifts of Christmas

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: If Dean is going to do this thing with Cas, he's going to do it right, in true cheesy Christmas tune style.





	

The first gift is easy. The bunker can be a little dark and dreary, no matter how many nice lamps Sam congregates in the library, to give the illusion of natural light while they read and eat and chill together. The end of the year is always light on hunts; plenty of bloodsucking, bone-crushing fuglies seem to hibernate once the snows begin to fall. Maybe they loathe the cold as much as hunters do. So they haven’t much to do save for deep cleaning, dusting the rarely used rooms, and listening to the old jazz records of long dead Men of Letters.

The place could do with a little fresh air and colour. Dean is determined to do Christmas right this year: he gets like this every few years or so, where he wants a tree and lights and crappy petrol station presents, and nothing less will do. They used to persuade Bobby he wanted in on the magic, and those are some of the memories Dean cherishes the most. If Dean ever makes it back to heaven, he's sure they will be on his greatest hits reel of ever-repeating trophy moments.

The bunker is glistening with Christmas cheer this year. Cas ended up watching a bunch of Christmas specials and movies during his stint as a human, and was inspired by the goodwill, generous kindness and gift giving. Genuine compassion is something Cas has in spades and he wants to do Christmas for real, even though he insists that Jesus Christ is a purely human inventon, who never existed and never will. The angels are God’s only direct children, and he certainly never sent any down to earth to preach to the early humans and be skewered by them.

But religious delusions aside, Cas loves the idea of a festival to brighten the midwinter darkness, with rich food and an appreciation for family. They kick off the holiday by decking the bunker out with tinsel, garlands and glittering lights. Sam and Cas insist on Christmas tunes and in the spirit of the season, Dean reluctantly relinquishes control of the radio. There's only so much Wizzard, Slade and Mariah Carey he can handle though, so Dean dusts off some old records. Fred, Sammy and Nat's crooning fills the hollow hallways, as Dean dominates the kitchen. One or two trilling choral songs are mixed in, including a particularly haunting and repetative version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.

Sam wants to get some kind of Christmas bush called a ‘Point-setsa' to brighten up the bunker and Dean obliges him, by tagging along to make sure the place isn’t going to be invaded by fru-fru flowers and frills. The flowers turn out to be much nicer than Dean anticipated; cheery green plants with bold red leaves in the shape of stars, rather than flower heads. He lets Sam go wild, and subtly reminds him how many rooms with gloomy corners they have, probably encouraging him to buy more than his little brother intended.

Whilst he's there, Dean takes the opportunity to snoop about a bit. Maybe their home could do with a little greenery all year round, but what small knowledge he has of plant life amounts to this: they like sunshine. Something the bunker is in short supply of. Still, Dean has never stepped inside a florist’s save for interviewing proprietors for a case. He assumed it would be all brightly coloured flowers and ribbons but he didn’t take into account Lebanon’s small town status. This one is more like a plant nursery, with outside tunnels where baby plants grow and plenty of exotic spikey things to distract.

Dean spies the wonky pear tree in the seasonal ailse; it’s the last one left, decorated with the ugliest plastic bird Dean has ever seen. He's already imagining how it will look once he's torn that out, before he realises he's decided to buy it. It’s that stupid song repeating on him; Dean can’t help but be drawn to it. But more than that, its gift material. Cas has a soft spot for all things bent out of shape. Somehow, Dean knows he will love this little lopsided tree, and the thought of the surprised, bashful smile on his face when Dean presents him with it. Well. That makes something warm burn in Dean’s stomach. He opts not to dwell on it, and takes the plant to the lady at the counter before he can change his mind.

She’s full of seasonal cheer, old enough to be his mother and sweet enough that Dean allows her to talk him into buying special heating lamps to trick the little pear tree into thinking its in the Mediterranean, and decorating the pot with a thick purple ribbon and bow. Sam gives him a look when he finally makes it to the till, but Dean nips any attitude in the bud with a swift; “Stow it, Sasquatch.”

They make it back in one piece, though they’d taken a truck from the garage, because there was no way Dean was going to cover Baby’s upholstery in soil and dead leaves in this or any lifetime. Cas is in the kitchen covering every surface in flour, wearing a frilly green apron Dean found in the store cupboard and presented to him as a joke. As usual Cas didn’t get it, called the gift practical and useful, and now refuses to take it off. Somehow that kind of behaviour has become charming to Dean, instead of annoying or frustrating.

As predicted, Cas turns a lovely shade of red when Dean fumbles with the pear tree, sans ugly bird, bumbling through a few hand gestures before giving up and letting the gift speak for itself. Sam makes himself scarce, probably due to the look on Cas' face – overly fond and indulgent, as though Dean is the greatest thing he has ever laid eyes on. Dean never knows how to respond to love like that, so he distracts himself with the set up of the lights to help the tree grow.

Once it is all sorted, and Dean steps back to admire his handywork – they set up the tree in Cas' room, since it is his – Cas sighs, happy or at least satisfied. Perhaps even content. Dean knows Cas better than any other human has or will but even he can’t interperate everything.

“So, uh, is it a keeper?” Dean hedges, with a slightly nervous smile. He never really knows how his overtures will be recieved, and somehow the perkiest beach babe is easier to romance than opening up his feelings to Cas.

“Oh Dean,” Cas smiles, fond and loving, gentle the way he rarely is with anyone, save for Dean. He says nothing else, just slides up onto his tiptoes, and presses a soft kiss onto Dean's scruffy, stubbled cheek.

And, well. No words are needed after that.

 


End file.
